In a course of a lifetime, what does it matter?
By the time I got to the bottom, I understood what Guthrie ment when he shouted LIBERO! It was a celebration of being alive.
Do the other angels know what they are doing? Am I the only confused one? Maybe I am unfinished, an unfinished angel.
I am still jealous that Phoebe’s mother came back and mine did not. I miss my mother.
A person isn’t a bird. You can’t cage a person.
I love the way that each book – any book – is its own journey. You open it, and off you go. You are changed in some way, large or small, by having traveled with those characters.
Read a lot, live your life, and listen and watch, so that your mind fills up with millions of images.
You know, maybe that’s all anybody wants, is to be useful. And have somebody else notice it.
One thing I’m interested in is what shapes us: the people? The place where we live? It’s both of those and more. That’s what I keep coming back to.
I started thinking about life insurance and how nice it would be if you could get insurance that your life would be happy, and that everyone you knew could be happy, and they could all do what they really wanted to do, and they could all find the people they wanted to find.
My granny Torrelli says when you are angry with someone, so angry you are thinking hateful things, so angry maybe you want to punch them, then you should think of the good things about them, and the nice things they’ve said, and why you liked them in the first place.
It can’t be dead. It was alive just a minute ago.
Something I am wondering: if you cannot hear do you have no sounds in your head? Do you see a silent movie.
And what did I think when I was small and why did I forget? And what else will I forget when I grow older? And if you forget is it as if it never happened? Will none of the things you saw or thought or dreamed matter?
I don’t want to because boys don’t write poetry. Girls do.
So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road.
Don’t be in too much of a rush to be published. There is enormous value in listening and reading and writing – and then putting your words away for weeks or months–and then returning to your work to polish it some more.
Then I thought, boy, isn’t that just typical? You wait and wait and wait for something, and then when it happens, you feel sad.
I tried. Can’t do it. Brain’s empty.
Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can’t help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea.